Rustling in the leaves; Underground

For the record, my intentions are not to talk like I am autistic, but just to send all of you a message. Today, my teacher told me that I don't exist. I'm a pigment of my own imagination. A floating pixel on the ground that just got ran over by a mac truck. I'm rolling in the sewer with my non-existent self and I can't smell one ounce of shit in this place because I simply do not exist. My teacher has tried to beat me before, she tried to tell me that my parents don't care about me because I'm imaginary. That I was a mistake. I wasn't meant to be here. And the more I thought about it, the more I believed it. I've been thinking when I walked into puddles, of rain, on the ground, that my foot wouldn't get wet, it was just stay the way it was. And sometimes, when I eat, I find my food sitting on the chair when I get up. I feel non-existent and invisible. My mom never says "Hi honey how was your day at school?" I don't know why when I go to school only my teacher talks to me, and I have no friends. Nobody notices when I talk and nobody notices when I slam my fists on the table out of anger. I don't know why I walk down the street and try to pet the neighborhood dog, or play with the free kids on the street. Everybody just asks, "What just happened?" "Why did something just touch my hand, was that you?"
---
I told her the next day that I bought a cow, and I thought he was an angel. Because he noticed me, and he licked me with his long cow tongue. He was a friend of mine, that I saw a lot of kindness in and I wanted this to be my lifelong companion, because he was the only one that was my best friend, ever. My teacher said that he resembled the devil. I said she was full of shit. She's always bringing me down, she's always telling me how I don't even matter.
---
The other day, my teacher touched me. She beat me, and tried to fuck me. She was really warm, as we laid on the science table and fucked. I don't know why, but she said this weird word. She said I "raped" her. But I don't know what that means. I can't think, really. I never could. I just knew this felt really good, so I did it, even if she was burning my dick off. It got really hot, almost too hot for normal. I didn't know if this was normal because I didn't know what this was. I just heard people talking about how they "fucked" at this party last night. It feels okay, but not when it feels like an oven.
>>>
I feel like, my teacher isn't human sometimes. Like she's from another world. Like she always does the most weirdest things. She guts lightning bugs and sticks the glowing part from their butts on her teeth and smiles deviously. I don't get it. I need help.
>>>
Today, I found out that my teacher isn't in the school records. She isn't enrolled in our school. I asked the guidance counselor if I could talk to her, I wanted to leave whenever I was in HER class. I started to notice, that when she teaches all the other kids are talking and goofing off and doing other class work. It's almost like we were in study hall. But the only person that was listening was me. I tried to talk to the guidance counselor, but when I went to go sit, it's like I wasn't there. She kept talking on the phone and sending other kids in, and I got to listen to all of their personal problems. What is wrong with me?
>>>
Today, I walked to the psyche hospital and sat in the waiting room for 2 days. Nobody noticed me. I am invisible.
>>>
My teacher is so beautiful.
She's a demon.
I am in love.
I am invisible.
And I am dead.

_______________________________
So, this is something I had a dream about. It might not make ANY sense to you. But the boy died a lonnnggg time ago, and went to hell. He came back as an autistic boy, and is invisible to almost everyone. His teacher is a demon, of course, she's the only one that notices him. Because she is his wife. Get it?

-Kayla

The Sanctuary (A Virgin Society)

822 Days Until Comedown:

It is dark outside. All the time. And we're, I think. We're old enough now, old enough to rip the feeding tubes out of our arms just as the umbilical chord is separated from a mommy and her baby. A boy told us that today. He knew because he was 10 when we got sent up here, he had a really good memory. I'm only 8, but that's all I know, hopefully all the kids here will remember something about themselves with me, like the ten year old boy. Maybe we could all be friends.

820 Days Until Comedown:

Today the 10 year old boy found a whole bunch of movies in the back of the ship. He put them on and there is a lady who calls herself the 'mother' of all of us. I don't know if it's true but she has a bunch of pictures of us, and next to them, she said our names, so here's mine.

Hello. My name is Samuel.

267 Days Until Comedown:

There are so many things to learn today. Mother has taught us all our vocabulary and customs of culture. She says she can't tell us everything, because she wants us all to experience things for ourselves. She keeps crying in all of her videos. Nobody knows why. All we do all day is sit and look forward to more videos of her, take notes, learn everything possible. This is how we will come to fine an explanation to being in space. And by the way, she has revealed that we're in space.

Samuel

128 Days Until Comedown

Study Study Study, a constant staple in our day. After that though, we eat our food and say hello to our friends. I have a few friends here but I remain closest to the boy who first revealed to me what an umbilical cord was. His name is Daniel and he knows most of the things that we learned earlier, like writing, but still we sit and wonder, why had mother cry? What had upset our mother in every single lesson she recorded, no matter what it was about? He tells me has memories of adults talking behind closed doors, shipping us off into space. We learned about what a family was today and what boys and girls do to make babies. Our ship was disgusted and for the whole day girls and boys remained separated from each other, until dinner that was. But thinking of everything, it really made me wonder, did my mom and dad care about me?

77 Days Until Comedown

And so all is revealed. Mother, she cries because she had to let go of us. She actually tells us its because she's crying for all of the women here. All of the mom's and dad's who've had to give up their children. Its hard aging from 8 to 10 on a spaceship with no concept of what life is really supposed to be like. Boys don't know how to treat girls; we don't know the concepts of society. All we know is mother. On the bright side, we're learning more and more about this thing called the comedown. Mother has changed her focus from World History to recent history. We don't know what it is yet, but hopefully it means us getting out of here.

Samuel

60 Days Until Comedown

Daniel steadily is learning on his own. Much older, he's learning how to operate a craft such as the one we're on currently. He's learning about the great societies of time, like Mayans and Incans and people such as that. He told me of pilgrims and all things through history. I stay interested, but I fear he's become engulfed in this work. Constantly studying, he doesn't even play the games as we all do. Instead he sits and reads.

Samuel

28 Days Until Comedown

Our history lesson in class: 2 years ago a different species invaded our planet. It took over our bodies and altered a mind. A closed- door- group of scientist decided there was only one way to prevent the spread- by bombing everything. A few parents were told the truth and that's where we came in. We were sent up into space when they dropped the bomb that would kill most of the species. They said themselves, the chemicals were made to make sure that no human lived, but where we should be landing, and that there'd be a safe house full of canned goods. We were given mom to learn to cook and clean and live without adults. We were supposed to come down, she says. Come down and hit the earth with the hard built top of the ship. She tells us that if we land and there's knocking, not to open the door.

Samuel

The Comedown

We hit the ground, hard. In an odd form of synchronization, the last video played and she told us to wait for noises. Nothing. The boys and girls filed out accordingly to what they saw as a safe house. The ground resembled ash, almost like a thing called snow that we learned about, but more pale. The air smelled harsh and hurt my lungs a bit. I couldn't wait until we got into the house. And when we finally did, as promised, cans of food remained everywhere from our ancestors. Because we had learned to cook food on the ship, such variety made it exhilarating for us. Daniel stayed in the ship uneasy though and as we all gathered happily, he remained paranoid.

We went inside and saw magazines. The magazine had a bunch of older women and dresses and muscular men. They almost looked like gods and I wondered if they were to the men and women who died before us. But my thoughts were thrown aside to the knocking, no, the rapping at the door. Quickly one of us locked it and we saw it was not a child as we were. Quickly, we ran upstairs for cover, and then found a weapon. We heard a large noise, which I thought was the window breaking, but when we looked out we saw that it was Daniel outside, making the noise. He was igniting the spacecraft, trying to launch off again. Against the ship, adults bleeding from the fingernails clawed at it, making a high pitch squealing noise we had never heard of. For a moment, he seemed at peace, launching the ship; I thought all of the hard work, all of the isolation, had gone in his favor. But that glimpse of hope was interrupted by a glimpse of a spark instead, showing the imminent fate of Daniel. The spark turned to a fire, the fire turned to an explosion and he was gone, leaving us alone. The used- to be adults came to us again now, banging on the doors of our little house and we all started crying. And for once, I felt emotions that mother used to teach us. I felt sad, I felt scared, but partly, I felt angry. I took the weapon and went downstairs. The Comedown wasn't what we expected but maybe if I made this land our own, we would find a way to survive.

Samuel

Hey guys, this is my story. Parts of it are unrealistic, like the fact that he has an extensive vocabulary at 10 years old, but I'm just trying to get my thoughts down

-Derrick

Little Boy

The world has come to a series of ghettos and off limits junk yards.

I get my ass kicked every day.

My dad is gone.

I have 1234 dollars.

This is life buddy…

…

…

…

…

It's 6:31 and I've lived in this ghetto for a total of four hours. I made friends! Their names are Ervin Drake and Jamie Myers. They're two guys who were walking up the street while I was sitting on my porch. And before I knew it my money was all spent with the exception of 20 dollars.

First they asked me if I wanted a cigarette. And seeing as though I have had no friendships for the entirety of my life I decided it would be fine.

I coughed violently for ten minutes. The smoke engulfs your throat and tickles. That's what happened to me at least.

…

So I've saved up this money since I was about six. I wanted a fucking trampoline so bad. And I got a cliché answer from my parents. So I saved money from birthdays, from those random times a grandparent offers you some cash. Only catch is I never bought that trampoline. But the two guys…said they would make me a god. Said I would be invincible, like superman. If I just offered them the money. I secretly kept those twenty dollars from myself. I told them I had 1214 dollars. I think they believe me.

…

They take me to some woods. We walked down the streets like thugs. It was weird…gave me a sense of…belonging. "This is what makes you superman" Jamie says. Once the bag was removed from his back he pulls out a large freezer bag full of some plant and a vial of colorful pills. And I wonder That's the shit my money went to! "Trust me man its good." I guess he realized I was surprised by the look on my face.

…

My father had this necklace. A chain. With a miraculous medal on it. The Virgin Mary's figure was carved into it. That's all I remember.

…

Ervin rolled the some of the green plant he called "marijuana" in a brown wrapping. When he was done he had a tight brown stick he called a "blunt". Jamie took one of the pills. Ervin lit the "blunt". I inhaled it after him. Now I coughed when I smoked a cigarette. But I nearly died after smoking the blunt. It stung not tickled.

…

I feel dead. Everything sounds as if in slow motion. Jamie said he was "tripping balls" and Ervin said he was "stoned" and that I was too. "You're fucking high bro…" he said painfully with a lung full of smoke. I felt terrible. I couldn't get up. I felt light headed. I felt like everything as a movie. And deep down…I knew it was great.

…

"Wanna see something cool man?" Jamie says. And I say, "Hell yeah."

…

"This is the shit the government doesn't want you to see." Jamie smiles at me and crawls under the fence. There's a hole that nobody notices that goes right under the fence allowing you enough space to crawl under. And when I get up I don't know if it was the plant or the pills but there were bodies. On crosses. Face down, naked in water. Fat ones, skinny ones, black ones, white ones, all dead ones. And there was a pile of bones sitting alone. And on his neck…

…

DAMN! FUCK! The Virgin Mary staring at me. Telling me its alright.

…

They beat me and left me with the bodies. They took my twenty dollars. Soon I walk home.

…

All I think about is the bodies…of Jamie and Ervin's fist. I sit in my room…like a pile of bones.    

 

So this wasn't that great. I've had writers block for a long time. This was my best attempt though.

See if you like it…I'm trying to get better….

 

-Jake

The Legend of the Tell-Tale Heart

    We took a drive. A casual one. A usual one. We drove up to the mountains. The winding road ahead was constantly shifting in and out of view. I didn't eat before I left home. I didn't really feel like it. Now I was having a cigarette on an empty stomach. She watched. I cried. She stared as I wept. We stopped at a rest stop. We made love. I continued to drive. We made it a few miles. I stopped to piss. She didn't have to. I got back in the car. She was sleeping. I held her hand. I started driving.

    She was still asleep. I took her out of the car. I cried harder than ever. Dirt flew. Metal glinted in the moonlight. A windless night—a perfect one. My vision was blurred. I shoved her. She took it. I left. I drove back down the mountain. I stopped at the rest stop. I had a cigarette. Now I had time. All the time in the world.

    At home, I slept. I slept sound, considering what happened. I tossed and turned. I couldn't handle it anymore. It was killing me. I felt like that guy, in that story. Or was it a poem? I couldn't remember it at the moment. It was the one with the heart. The heart underneath the floorboards. Or was it a body? And the guy heard the heartbeat. And he went crazy. That's what I was. I heard the heartbeat. I heard it and it was driving me insane. I cried. I laughed. I cried again. I screamed. No longer could I bear it. No longer could my own heart take it. It couldn't take the knowledge. It couldn't take the sound.

    I hit the wall. I hit it as hard as I could. Broke my hand. Didn't feel pain. Now I do. I kicked the wall. Broke my toenails. Didn't feel that too. Now I feel that, too. The silence choked me. The sound swallowed me. I tried to fight it. I tried to hit it back. I cut myself. I tried to end it. I took pills. I threw it all up. I drank. I threw that all up too. I felt no love. I felt no pity. I felt no sadness. I was light. I was drifting. I smiled. I tore out some hair. I clawed my face. I laughed. It was joyous. I loved it. I hated it.

    I killed it. I killed her. I buried her. 6 feet deep and 7 feet wide. A part of Mother Earth. I was guilty. I confessed. I called the cops. They came. I broke my hand, I clawed my face. I cut my wrists, I threw up. I broke my toenails, I tore out my hair. They saw me. I cried. They injected me. I felt… still…

    I awoke in a hospital. The white room slightly blinded me as I stared around at the walls. I didn't want to be in this dreadful place, but I knew I had to. I was pretty banged up, and the doctors said that I was in terrible shape. They said that I was lucky to be alive. I cried again, but it hurt. After I recovered, I thought they would send me to jail. They didn't. They sent me to a mental hospital. There I stayed for several years. I forgot the sound of anything good on television. I forgot the taste of the outside air. I forgot the exhilarating feeling as I crested the hill on a rollercoaster. I missed the wind in my hair, and the sound and sights of cars.

    I finally got home. They gave me these pills that make me feel great. I don't remember much of what happened that night, just bits and pieces, like photographs. I only remember certain pictures or clips of that night. I hope the pills they gave me take those pictures away. I couldn't stand to know why I was suddenly alone. I couldn't stand to know why people avoided me in my neighborhood. I hated them. I hated them all. But, for some reason I didn't. I didn't hate them all. In fact, I loved them dearly. I loved them as if I was their father, and they were my children. I loved them to death. I still don't know why, but I'm trying to figure it out. I'm trying to piece my life back together. I'll never do drugs, I'll never drink. I'll never have sex, I'll never own a pet. I'll never have kids, I'll never have a wife. Because I'm afraid. Not afraid of having sex, or doing drugs. I'm not afraid of having kids, a wife, and a cute little dog. I'm not afraid of them, I'm afraid for them. Afraid of what I could do. Afraid of what I've done.

    Sometimes at night, I awake with a start. I think that I can hear that heartbeat. When that happens, I go to the bathroom and wash my face. I take a pill, and calm down. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I can swear that I see her. I can swear for a split second that I see her and in her eyes, all the shit I've done bores into my heart. And my heart beats. It beats quicker than ever. It beats furiously in my chest, and I think I'll have a heart attack. But I soon realize that she isn't there and I shake my head. I lay back down in bed and close my eyes. However, my heart would still be beating. Slower, now that I've lied down. However, I can hear it. I don't feel the thumping, but I can hear it. The beating of the Tell-Tale Heart.

 

This is what I've written. I don't really know, I like it a lot. Tell me what you think!

--Jon

I understand that we've been neglecting this thing
and I don't know about you guys but this was awesome xD
so I think that we should start it up again.
I'm working on a new project
and I'm calling it 'Runner'
and so I would like it if we start posting in this again.
Idk, I have nothing else to do in class, so I figure, "why not?"
So I'll have you guys know that I'm going to be posting stuff in here soon :P

-Jon

THIS IS ALL DEAD.


-Kayla

Emanuel and the Clairvoyance

An end is nigh and crows will fall
Yet through it all I refuse
The Devil will dance and the aegis breaks
At the inchoate bowel

Even the skinner barely killed
And hell rides can be a thrill
All inspired by the weak
The searchlight’s lust will be filled

Oh pity me darling for the cutting begun
But the pendulum at a halt
For I am blind to the night’s red
In my mouth the taste of salt

All inspired by the weak
The searchlight’s lust will be filled

It was a coward for success
Just as the misery
But I promise you it’s hotter in hell
Let us go together in bliss

Even the skinner barely killed
And hell rides can be a thrill
All inspired by the false
The eye’s lust will be filled

Oh pity me darling for the cutting begun
But the pendulum at a halt
I hate the crust of night’s tears
Let us dance in your opus cult

Although I’m burning
I swear I’m free
Though tonight I watch the doves fall down
They will fly tomorrow you see
Even if today the humor mask is true
It is not your face
Through my denial it will break
Wearing it you will rue

No don’t pity me friends
For I am king
And forever
It is my slave

______

Yeah all you TNP guys
This is sorta a little song thingy I wrote
See what you think

The Textbook of Enlightenment

He had a problem
A burden

He knew it all

Everyone saw it in the least

He himself could not look at his infamous eyes with a look of passion

He was a "god"

and all with a sense of perfection

People around him try so hard

And try to grasp something larger

Which only angered him

They knew nothing

He knew true chaos

The small world around the people was nothing yet in this he meant nothing to them

Which also angered him

Knowing everything can end in only knowing so little

Damn those small minded

They know only what is around them and get their insignificant pleasure through primitive thought

His one wish is to destroy them in their puny nothingness

But he feared his father

If only gods could die





--------


sigh

This isnt really anything

Just self expression

-Jake

Incomprehensible

I think the reason I really like it when the weather’s force is so prominent is because it starts to feel like the wind itself, or the rain, or the snow, or whatever, is actually a part of something that has order. It makes me feel like I have a friend, or a companion, and when I open up the door, and the winds blowing so hard that it rips it out of my hand scaring the shit out of me, it makes me feel like maybe, the wind is just having a bad day. And that for once it’s being selfish and it isn’t thinking about being gentle, so as not to hurt the human beings. I mean, I get that nothing is connected. Or at least, I get that there’s a possibility that nothing’s connected. I once read in this book called Accepting the Universe by John Burroughs, that said weather isn’t a negative thing; not even when it hurts us. It really makes a whole hell of a lot of sense, because the weather is just the weather, and its’ just happening. It’s not making any consideration to the humans, because we ourselves are just part of nature too. Usually, I think of stuff like that before I end up reading it in a book. But that time, I happened to read it before I got to think it up myself. Personally, ever since I was a little little girl, I always loved the weather. I’m not talking the quiet stuff either though. Until I turned about 12 maybe, I swear I wanted to be a tornado chaser.
There’s something about tragedy that I can’t get enough of. Some weird, twisted, sadistic part of me that wants to have to suffer. I don’t mean it in a suicidal way. I just mean being so close to something so much bigger than me… seeing how easily it can just be without thinking about other people… it makes me want to cry, but in a good way.
It just is.
I know there’s more to my fascination for it.
I feel like the explanation I just gave only touched on the reasons behind it.
But I really can’t place it.
I just know that I get this rush in me. Something that has a root, embedded so deep underneath all of the shit that’s piled on top of what once was my core central being, that can explain just exactly what the fuck I mean. Maybe I just want to be miserable. Because misery is true passion, and with that kind of misery, you never have to question if it’s justified. If I was more eloquent, maybe I could write a real book. Maybe I could take all the things that make me feel like I’m alive, and put them somewhere; compile them, so they make sense.
But the problem is, sometimes, putting ideas in to stories destroy them a little bit. Just imagine, a singular solitary image, or a mysterious, insightful kid, with a childish face, upon who’s surface gazes eyes that you knew held things like clarity you could only imagine. Imagine that this kid was always eating apples, and imagine that he always cut them with a pocket knife.
I can like that kid right now.
But the minute I throw him in with a story lacking passion for everything other than him, it’s like I’ve diagnosed him with a terminal illness. Soon, I’ll relate him to that that stupid story.
And eventually, I’ll end up hating him. Just like I’ve hated all the other characters I once cherished so much in the past.
Because I can’t show anyone else what I mean by clarity, and wisdom. No one but me can understand what I mean when I say the kid has an understanding of things unfathomable.
And in the end, he just ends up getting lost. Thrown in with all the others, once so precious in the mind of their creators, now so warn, and used and tarnished, from being thrown from lips of people who take the idea, and form them in to their own.
They’re only dead to the creators.
Which is why, I think I’d rather keep my characters locked up inside my head.
Where they continue to remain precious.
Where no one can tell me they’re cliché.
Because the way I think about them; they’re really not.


---------------------------------------

Hey,
I know it's been kind of long.
This is the first chance I've had to be on a computer
and I didn't even mean too
but I just started thinking
and putting things down in to words

it's not really a story.
but it's what i really believe in.

by the way
this is Miranda.

My Sanctuary

The bullet felt cool and harmless in Mark's palm. He turned it over and over, and the metal soon grew warm. Without thinking and hesitation, Mark slid the bullet into the chamber. He spun the barrel and it spun around in circles. He flipped the revolver sharply to the right, and the barrel swung into its respective place. Reaching up with his thumb, he clicked back the hammer. Looking at the other man, Mark raised the revolver to his head. Without blinking, he squeezed the trigger, and the ever peaceful 'click' rung through his head. He smiled, and held out the revolver to the man. He was a white man, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, quite the young age to risk his life for money. He was clean shaven, and wore a brilliant white polo shirt-a high possibility that the pureness of the shirt would be ruined, and never to be washed. His eyes darted around the room, in an ever nervous way. Mark could tell he didn't want to be there. Mark just smiled and said the incriminating words "Do it." That was enough to push the man to spin the barrel, click back the hammer, and point the gun at his own head.

    

Mark noticed something interesting about the man, besides the fact that he had the balls to try and best him at his favorite game. He noticed that the man's lower lip trembled a little bit every time Mark's head wasn't destroyed by the bullet. The man had a golden band on his left hand, signifying that he was married. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, even before he started playing. Mark held out his hand, lowering the gun.

    

"What's your story?" He asked the man. Mark knew that he didn't belong here, in a dark basement of the bar, where a countless amount of blood was spilt on the walls and floor. "A man just doesn't do this unless he's sure of himself."

    

"W-well…" The man started to say. "I-I was fired a few weeks ago… then the week after that, my parents died in a car crash. A month later my family had no money to pay for the bills, s-so my wife left with my daughter." Tears started to spill down his cheek, and run off of the revolver. "I couldn't handle it anymore, so… I… I…" He squeezed the trigger, and the 'click' sounded out again. He sighed in relief and passed the gun over. Mark held it up to his head and pulled, and the 'click' sounded again. He passed it back to the man.

    

"What's your name?" Mark asked him.

"C-Carl…" The man hesitantly replied. He pulled the trigger-nothing. Only the ever familiar click. Carl made a weird noise that came from deep in his throat-a kind of whimper mixed with a groan and passed the gun over. The crowd that gathered around them were starting to grow restless. They came and bet money to see someone die, yet none of them had their money yet. Mark took the gun and raised it to his head. "W-why do you do it?"

"What, this?" Mark referred to the gun. Carl nodded slowly. Mark smiled. "I'm married. I have children, a house, and a job. Everything you don't have. The only thing you have that I don't is peace. You're very peaceful for a man in your position, y'know that?" He continued smiling. "The only way I can find solace is in this…" He shook the gun in his hand. "This… is my sanctuary… my release." He squeezed the trigger, and for a split second it seemed like time had slowed. He saw the bright whiteness that was Carl's polo shirt. He noticed how vibrant all of the colors were in the room. He even noticed one of the tiniest fruit flies, buzzing around in front of the two. And the last he remembered was the last thing he said.

 

"My Sanctuary… My release…"

-Jon

Fists for Faith (Jake’s Story)

In the nighttime, my fear grew unbearable and I started to realize the world around me isn't as brightly lit as ever body else perceived. I had discovered this at about the age of nine.

        So my mom would stroke my curly hair until I slept and she'd whisper to me before I dozed off into my dreams, she'd whisper "Son, you're meant for so much more."

        Then a few months later, she gave me my Book of Sanctum, hundreds of pages that would keep me safe wherever I went- people call this the Holy Bible.

    

So everywhere I went, I carried a pocket-sized version of the book. I carried it to my job, I carried it to the movies, it went everywhere. But as I said before, it was with me at my job and where I worked I needed it. I was employed at a mortuary and my main duty was to fit the suits and dresses to each body I saw. Seeing so many bodies of who seemed to be pleasant people when they were dead and at peace, it could really drag your spirit down, but that's why I went to the dollar store every day.

At the dollar store, they sold crosses and crucifixes. I would always buy at least fourteen of them and tear them off of their small chains they were on and store them in my pocket. At work, when I figured what tailored suits would be assigned to each body, I would stick a cross into their breast pocket or a crucifix into the bow of a dress. I never got complaints for doing this, because I don't believe anybody took it as offensive, no matter what religion. I myself believed that what mattered was having someone out there was praying for you and looking at these dead bodies-these machines, these passageways into heaven I would always leave affected. I would hug the bodies of dead little girls, I would fix the hair of middle aged men with their eyes closed and I would straighten their ties before their funerals.

And when I left, I wondered why this had to happen. And as I exited the morgue, I buttoned my peacoat and I would walk in the dark. Scared of surroundings, I would pray to the Father, the Son, and the Spirit and I'd be okay. But the more and more I prayed, the more a loud voice tried to interrupt my thoughts.

        "You're next." I heard. "You're going to find yourself laying on one of those autopsy tables. I promise."    

And as I remained terrified, I continued going to my job, but things started to become strange. As I went to find the right fit for suits, they would jump up, grab my arm and scream. Sometimes the little girls would cry and ask why I killed them and sometimes they would get up and chased me. But all it took was for me to place a crucifix on a little girl's lips or put a cross by the dead assailant's temple. It was then that their eyes grow wide and they went back to peace. And it seemed I could stomach this until the reflection became me.

He grabbed and began to grow wide eyed, water spewing out of his mouth. Gasping, heaving for air, he just gagged on water, skin greenish and face flushed. I almost threw up but nonetheless I laid the cross on him and ran into the bathroom, opening the Book of Sanctum.

So I prayed to the Father, the Son, and the Spirit and they told me to evacuate my evils, I had to face them head on.

And for some reason, I knew we're my enemy would be. In the underbelly of the city, that scared pit in my stomach, under a sewer grate, it resided in there and as I went deeper down this filthy ladder, I started sweating. After enough climbing I looked down and saw exactly what I had expected, the Lake of Fire. And as I jumped down into it, I realized, contrary to popular belief, the Lake was the exact opposite of what was expected-it was the coldest thing you could imagine. It reeked of sorrow and pulled onto my ribcage as close as it could until I thought the chill was going to prevent them from in taking air. But as I pushed through the inferno, I felt something warm gracing my back. It touched me and made me smile and I realized I had the Spirit right behind me.

And for a moment I thought maybe how quickly I went to fight the demons was a bit senseless, but there are journeys a man has to go through and this felt like one. As I walked I saw it. What I had to face. It had many names, but I preferred to refer to it as the devil. It was slumped, halfway underwater.

    But as it rose, I could see the long black streaks of what was hair. It had eyeliner and pouting lips, it had a rounded pelvis and different curves than I. Before me was the beast, the demon, the devil, no, before me was a woman.

She stood naked trying to lure me over, but my stomach started to twist and I was prepared. My Book of Sanctum had warned me of this deception and I had awaited all of this, I had expected all of this, I had read all of this. "I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! SHOW YOURSELF, SHOW YOUR TRUE FORM." And she twitched into little spasms. I began saying prayers and seeing my Father, his Son, watching me with approval and I watched the demon shed forms as she remained the same but her eyes drew to the back of her head and she grew claws. The Father and the Son laid a sword upon my hands and the Spirit guided my arm slightly with me swinging in the air, backing it away.

The demon grew angry, she backed up, and charged, and I put my sword up, trying to block the fury of Satan itself.

Bite marks mark the dubious mash, but sword slashes mark the devil's defeat. And to this day, I still believe my mother. I knew she was right and I was meant for more. I was meant for a deeper understanding. And I'm not afraid anymore and I never will be again. I now know who's guiding the blades of my back, who watches me for my judgment and who makes sure I'm alright and ever since then I've traded my fists for my faith and I've never felt wrong about it.

The Circus

The condensation strewn, covering the windows, cold and wet from the snow that just fell down a moment ago. Covering the city like a blanket, putting it to sleep. My parents are talking the front seat, but I can't understand what they're saying. Me, I'm Abel, I'm from Slovakia, and my parents have always force fed me rules and regulations that aren't really what you would call regular. We're on our way to the local circus right now. I know, I'm 8 going on 9, I'm a little too old for this, but my parents never baby me anymore and I thought this would be the closest thing to it. The green signs are passing me up so fast I can't read what they say. I don't know how to get to the circus, but I don't think it's on a dirt road. My brain is bouncing off the sides of my head and my hands and fingers are dancing inside my coat pockets. I hear the snow crinkle in between the tread of the tires, and the pebbles crackle in and out of them like minuscule bones. This road is really bumpy and I have a feeling I'm on my way to a place much more different than the circus.

We climb to the top of the hill. I see an abandon building. Half of the front what was probably an entrance caved in with bricks that used to touch the sky. We got out of the our vehicle and some strange man in an all black velvet business suit walks up and drives our car to a safe place. My dad grabs my hood like a leash. Like I'm a dog, and drags me to a booth. In the booth, a fat bald man with a lazy eyes watches pornographic movies on his portable DVD player. My dad discusses with him with a horrible Slovakian accent behind his English that the price for youth is outrageous. I grab his hand and look up with my bright green eyes and say, "Father." He continues discussing. I tug, "FATHER." My father looks down and spits in my face. I sneeze and wipe his streaming saliva off of my eyebrows and eyelashes. We proceed forward. My mother just following us like she's our caddy. Like we're playing golf. We step over those bricks that used to touch the sky, then I hear violent screaming. I stop dead in my tracks. My mom pushing me forward. My father tugging me, forcing me forward.

Internal monologue has set in, paranoia ensues. What am I doing here? There's cages and chains and shackles and chairs and high voltage hats. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to die.

We continue forward. I see a man. He has a bag of candy. I ask for a piece of bubblegum, he hands me a piece and says "Go have yourself an adventure." He sounded sarcastic, almost pissed to be there. I bite down and the sweet sensation of bubblegum jolted through my teeth leaving me with a big smile on my face. Very opposite of what I was feeling. We keep walking down this narrow hallway lined with cages. Replicas of jail cells. Elite Hunting. My father's job. His fucking profession. Torturing people, letting them suffer. Making them not bite the bullet, but swallow it. My thoughts were then interrupted by a man lashing out and screaming. Sounding like pebbles hitting the floor, "I'm scared." I say out loud. "Shut the fuck up, Abel." My father yells. My jaw quivers, my eyes clear coat with tears. I looked down at the ground. We've been walking on a path made of preserved bones this whole time. We stop. I'm thinking we need to talk to another hunter. "Follow me" he says in a dark ominous tone. He hands us three lab coats. One for me, one for my father, and one for my mother. "Check your pockets" he says. We all pull out hospital masks. At this point, I'm crying.

I kick the wall, throw the equipment on the rugged bone floor and scream, "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! YOU TWISTED PEOPLE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY PARENTS?!" My father hits me. My mom forces my arms straight out, adjacent to each other. She forces the lab coat on my limbs. My father covers my mouth so I could stop lashing out. My parents both force the hospital mask on my face. As soon as the last strap wraps around my left ear, I spew everywhere. No one saw. At this point, I'm crying, shaking, and puking my brains out while walking. We enter our cage. Our jail cell. I catch a glimpse of a man. A familiar looking man. I rub the river of tears out of my eyes to see it's the same man who gave me bubblegum. I look into his eyes, he looks pissed to be there. His mood hasn't changed at all since the last time I saw him. He's tied up to a chair. Helpless like an ant under a magnifying glass with the sizzling sun ray hitting on its back, killing it in front of it's own family. We're going to kill him. If not my sick-twisted parents. The virgin-minded me. He had "The Fork" on his neck like an unwanted necklace. The Fork is basically a midevil torturing weapon/tool just used to be jabbed into the chin making talking and movement of the head nearly impossible. My dad is already revving up the chainsaw.

I'm trying to stop crying. My father flaunts the chainsaw in front of the man's face, like you do with human food in front of a dog's dancing eyes. Except this guy, didn't want it. His eyes were trying to stop my dad from doing this. The fork was making him squirm. He couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't get away. My father looks at me. Finally, he stopped. He hands me the chainsaw. "Son, you do the honors, maybe If you do this, I'll respect you more and you'll be less of a pussy." I stare. "TAKE IT, GODDAMMIT!" I immediately put my hands out. And I hold the chainsaw. It's so heavy, but I can manage. I press the handle to make the teeth spin. The guy, is scared that his life is in the hands of an 8-year-old. I have the power, I'm in control.

All I could think of is if I do this, kill this man, maybe my parents will treat me better. So I rev up that chainsaw, with the teeth eating the air. I jam it into his groin. Blood splatters everywhere like one of my favorite pictures. My mind goes blank. I go from the groin to the inner thigh, to the knee cap, to the femur, eventually hitting his toes. My jacket is now a light pink. The moans and groans of the bubblegum man push me along to keep butchering him like a dead deer. There's blood in my hair and blood on my equipment. A demon has consumed my brain. I can't think about anything other than what I do next. I stop. I'm done. Step away, look at my masterpiece. It's struggling for life. The fork still around his neck. He's dead. I drop my jacket. I hand over the chainsaw to my wide-eyed father. My mother expressionless. It's then, I notice. My gum has just lost it's flavor. I walk away. out of the cage, the jail cell, not caring if my parents are following or not.

I'm walking away with blood in my hair, and in my fingernails. I still have the mask on. I walk over the bricks that used to touch the sky, and see my car. The snow crinkles in my shoes tread, and the man who took our car lets me in it warmed up and ready to go. I look in the rear view mirror, and realize that I like what I see. I don't feel like an 8-year-old. I don't feel like Abel. And that's when I knew, I became and Elite Hunter.

My name is Abel, I am now 24 years old, I have dark shadowed hair, with red tips to represent the day I killed my first victim. Only for you bubblegum man, your blood changed my life. Who's next?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
So, I wrote this a while back, but just wanted to share it with some people and get feedback because It's really the only serious thing I've ever written. Tell me what you think.

-Kayla

It Had a Human's Eyes Ch.1

before i post chapter one id like to give you guys an idea of what the book it about.-Mark Price was a normal happy family man living in Ontario, Canada as a Geologist. There has always been stories about the legendary Sasquatch in the area, but rarely anyone believes in it. After a hunting trip that changed their lives, Mark and his close friend become obsessed with finding the creature. they search for hours on end and quit their jobs and swear to a pact that they will find it. But they soon find out the more and more they go into the life of tracking Sasquatch, their old lives begin to disintegrate.

It Had a Human's Eyes

This goes to all my friends who enjoy the art of writing,

You guys got me interested

CHAPTER ONE:

I’m going to tell you this but I don’t expect you to believe it. Truth is, most people probably won’t believe me, but why should they? I'm looked at as an insane old man now, I wouldn’t even believe myself had it not happened to me. Here in Ontario, we always hear the stories; Stories of hunters who were just going out to get Deer for Christmas, who run into a strange creature with human like features, but also features similar to that of an ape. Stories of how this creature came into their line of sight and they apparently fired all their rounds at it, but none of their rounds actually went off. Stories about how they were too scared to shoot the creature. Stories about how they had put at least ten bullets into the thing, and it ran off into the woods, never to be seen again. Stories of the large footprints in the snow and dirt, measuring fourteen to sixteen inches in length were found near a stream. Stories of the hunters hearing two pieces of wood knocking against each other off in the distance. Stories of hunters seeing something leap across the road in front of their car. Stories of hunters waking in the middle of the night to loud screeches that send chills down their spines.

Around here most of the people will call you crazy for telling such a tale. They accuse even the most pure, to be drunks or under some sort of influence at the time of the sighting. The only people that believe in the stories are the individuals that had the experiences and their families and friends, but sometimes they don’t even believe them. That is what happened to me.

My name is Mark Price. At the time I was just an average Joe. I was slightly taller than most people my age, had short blonde hair and a medium build. Up until I was thirty-five, I can’t really tell you I had an eventful life. I didn’t have much of a childhood; same as everyone else up here. I went to school and had good grades, but that’s about it, just like everyone else. My family wasn’t the richest, but we weren’t poor either, just like everyone else. My father was a wildlife biologist, so I was always outside playing. My mother worked in town, at a gunstore, so I knew how to handle and maintain a rifle, but I rarely actually used one. Me and my few high school friends would go out drinking beer in the mountains, but we never ran into any creature, or heard any strange noises, so at first I never believed in it. If I were to ask my father about it, he would always go on the same rant he always did about how “he was a wildlife biologist for seventeen years now and knew every animal in Canada, and how the so called ‘Sasquatch’ did not exist, if it did, he would have ran into one, or at least found a footprint, by now”.

I met my wife, Elena, just after high school. She was the most beautiful woman I ever met. I loved how her medium length brown hair would flow even at the slightest turn of her head. I could stare into her green-brown eyes for hours on end. I loved to hear her talk; she had the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, and her laugh was the happiest, sweetest sound I had ever heard. She had a perfect body, she wasn’t a model or anything, she still had flaws, but it’s those very flaws that made her perfect. We fell in love right away and had a quiet little relationship, just like everyone else. We got married in college, at twenty-one, very young and unheard of around here. Her major was in Accounting; she was always good at math and loved numbers. My major was in Geology, I had a fascination with how the Earth was formed, but that all changed in a couple years or so- after It happened... We had our first child, Benjamin, when we were twenty-three, now a tall, lanky boy for his age. He had his mother’s brown hair and his mother’s green-brown eyes. And at twenty-five, we had our daughter, Julia; she also had Elena’s eyes, but my blonde hair. It was hard raising two kids while in college, but we managed.

After I had gotten my degree, I started working with this firm, studying the rocks in Canada and how they originated but that’s not important. Probably the most important thing about my work was that I met my best friend there, Kurt Anderson, a big guy, muscular and sort of heavy. Short, dark-brown hair and a face that was almost always smiling.He had a short mustahce-goatee combo. He and I had a lot in common. We both loved the outdoors, naturally. We both had grown up in similar conditions, his family was gun-crazy and his dad was a biologist. We would always joke around at work, and he would always tell me old hunting stories that I bet weren’t even true. Like one for example, he said he and his dad were hunting and there was this huge Buck, 7 feet tall, he would tell me. He told me how he shot it right in the neck and it sort of lifted its two front legs up like a horse would do and began to charge him and his dad. He was only 15 at the time so it was scary for him, but luckily they had strapped themselves into trees with tree-seats. And aparently the thing got underneath Kurt’s tree and started ramming its antlers into the bottom of the tree with “blood squirting out of it’s neck each step dude, so I was like trying to aim my gun directly down at him, but you know me, even at the time I packed big ones, so I couldn’t figure out how I could turn my Remington 700 right down on him and end it, so my Dad in the tree about fifteen yards from mine tried to do the same, but this thing’s moving like crazy, so he can't get a shot at it either. And I'm like almost falling out of the tree from the vibrations this thing is giving off each time it smashes into it man, so I just tried to hold on as long as I could and wait for the damn thing to die of bloodloss, and after like nine hours it finally gives up and dies right there, with blood all around it, dude, I'm serious, I’ve never seen so much blood! You really should have seen it man!” Kurt. What a guy. He had a very outgoing personality, but he did exagerate a lot. He was the kind of guy that if you had talked with him for an hour or so, you really wouldn’t think he was too smart, but in reality he was. He would always make simple mistakes, but when it was time to be serious, and he knew it was time to be serious, the guy could cut a piece of hair inhalf, longways, with a razor.

Elena was still in school, she also wanted to get a teaching degree in Math, typical for her. So for the most part, I was taking care of the kids with my one job while she was in school, but that was fine with me. The kids and I would play outside and I would teach them a little bit about the rocks in our back yard like how to identify limestone and such. We had a pretty decent sized backyard, it was on the top of a small hill, and at the bottom was a stream and a treeline, behind those trees were just a few acres of woods, not much wildlife in them, if we saw a deer there, it was pretty rare, but we saw lots of frogs and rabbits down at the tree line. Benjamin would always run up to me when he had found a rock with a fossil of a fish in it. He had quite a little collection, he loved fish. Just as Julia was beginning to learn to speak –her actual first word was “rock”- little Benjamin started to try and teach her what I was teaching him, of course he had gotten a lot of little things wrong, but I thought it was cute and let him teach her. They would always play in the backyard as I would be making lunch for the three of us.

I remember one day in the summer when the kids were out of school, they had just come outside to me while I was doing some gardening asking me about Sasquatch. Benjamin came up to me and said “Hey Dad?” his face was sort of scared, and Julia was close behind him. “Yeah?” I asked him. It took him a while but then he asked me “Is Bigfoot real?” I sort of laughed at the way he said Bigfoot. I turned to him and asked why, then he told me how he and Julia were eating their mac ‘n cheese and watching the TV and there was a program about Bigfoot on and how it had picked up large rocks and was throwing them at a fisherman. And how the next day the fisherman returned to the spot and found a huge footprint. I could see how he was scaring Julia by repeating what happened in the show, they both looked at me with such curious, trusting eyes. “No,” I replied. “Those stories are all fake, they just make them up, most people confuse what they think was Bigfoot, with a bear or some other large animal.” I could see his little mind could rest now. “Yeah they did mention something about bears on the TV” he said, this time he wasn’t as scared but he was now looking off into the woods behind our house. His mind was still on the TV program, I could tell. “Hey,” I said after a while, “why don’t we all go inside and have some icecream?” That changed the looks on both of their faces quickly. Julia ran into the house screaming “Yay! Yay! Icecream!” She was wearing this little orange dress Elena had bought for her. It swayed left and right as she ran through the door, into the kitchen. Benjamin followed her but then stopped about ten feet from the door, looked back into the woods, shook his head a little and then ran inside.

-Matt

The Finale

(This one goes to Matt. I told you I'd write you one.)

 

I stepped into that circle of dust and sand and beheld the opponents. There were five of us including myself.

We all acknowledged the fear in everyone's eyes. The sweat on our brows was not from the heat but from our anxiety. You could tell the difference in anxiety sweats. Because you feel cold. Cold like the winter back home in that forgotten planet. I think the place was Greenland, but the sun has whipped my memory. But I felt the cold and I swear to God they were cold too.

For we were surrounded by graves of all sorts. The revolution victims. The unfortunate prey of the plague. Those sucked dry by the outstanding heat.

And we knew all of us would be joining them today. All except one. This was not a game of strength or speed. The harsh lands have extracted those things from our bodies. The only thing left we could rely on is luck. And none of us felt very lucky.

Today we gathered here by some miraculous coincidence. It was a race to this place. The circle. For in the middle sat a chest. Placed by God himself they say. Or perhaps Satan. All five of us had raced here. Oblivious to each others existence until now. We all wanted that chest. And either God or Satan had thought it would be humorous if we all happened to arrive here at the same….exact….time.

We were men of sorrow. For no particular reason (I can say that for us all). Our minds couldn't grasp the happiness. Slut wives. Alcohol. Bereavement. We were the weaklings who could not overcome. And so the legends began. The chest placed by God (or Satan!) would answer our problems. That's what I heard…and I went for it. Followed the directions given by that crazy man who told me the tale. Head east toward the Zion Mountain Range. Climb over those. You'll find a valley. In three days time you will cross it. Swim across the stream at the end of this valley. And you'll find desert. Walk east continually. You will find it. A graveyard. And in the middle is a large circle. There is your answer. There you will find peace. God put it there for you my boy.

I now felt that sense of foolishness like the naïve boy who believed petting a sleeping bear's ears would keep it asleep allowing you to pass. Only to realize it doesn't work and the bear mauls your face off. How many people must have heard this tale? Apparently at least four others. And here I stood. On the right lower corner of the star we had instinctively formed in the circle. The left lower corner was a fat man. His gut nearly bursting the white buttoned shirt he wore. The sleeves rolled to his elbows.

The left hand of the star was a man with piercing blue eyes. Dark hair. And a whiskey bottle hanging by leather string over his shoulder.

The right hand was dirty person (exceeding the expected "dirty" of us travelers) with no leg. Leaning on a crouch. Gun in hand. It trembled in fear.

And the tip of the star was a short blond kid. No older than 17. What could he have needed this prize for?

If you must know I was (like mentioned earlier) the lower right corner and I guess I could say I was a pale man (regardless of the tanning effect). My mustache now grown in from the months of traveling. And I am so thankful that my dear mother (bless her soul) had given me a clean cut two months before my journey. A month afterwards she was kicked by a mad horse. Her old body couldn't take that punishment. The short hair (that has grown a few inches over this time) gave me great vision of the men.

I had come to the decision after those aching moments that I would come out a winner no matter the future. If I was shot right here, so be it. If not, the chest was mine.

We knew the routine. All of us shook away the confusion of running into each other and drew our pistols. Showdown. Ha!

This old buddy has survived much abuse over the harsh ages. My old grandmother used this weapon to shoot off the prairie dogs stealing her strawberries. Now I will shoot off the prairie dogs stealing my prize.

How do you have a shootout with five damned people? I thought to myself. We would have to work together to kill each other. One shoots the other until hopefully one stands at the end. That is unless we all shoot the person to our right or left and everyone fucking dies.

Bam! The ring of ricochet burst off the tombstones. The idiot missed. The boy at the top of the star had fired and fucking missed me! Shocked, we all open fired on him. One down.

Two men fired and killed each other. It was hilarious. It was a shame I could not enjoy the humor because it was me and the guy on the right hand. The guy on the crouch. Damn guilt trip. I couldn't shoot the poor guy. But he could sure as hell shoot me. No pity.

Bam! No ricochet because the bullet entered flesh. His flesh. The crouch flew from his grasp and he fell.

Loss of words. When you win a game of chance it leaves you empty and speechless. Not even happy.

Sighing I decided to wipe remorse from the plate and claim my reward. The chest was black and had silver metallic binding. There was no lock. Surely it was Satan's work.

It slid open with such ease like it weighed nothing. The inside was lined with velvet like material. After opening the chest was the only time I experienced maniacal laughter and weeping simultaneously.

There sat on the bottom of that velvet chest, a revolver. One golden shell lying next to it. Now I was only crying.

"Talk about peace…"

Bam!

 

-Jake T. Edmunds

 

This was inspired by The Good the Bad and the Ugly if you hadn't noticed. But uh…hope you like it. Give me some feedback. Umm….btw I'm gonna write a story for everyone. This one is for Matt (Feher) and expect one to be written for you (Miranda, Jon, Derrick, Kayla) soon.

This will also be my submission for The Overlook intro.

-Jake

Intro to The Overlook project...

Ok.
I have something I want to propose.
I would like for there to be an intro poem, short story, or something to be the opening to the Overlook (book).
I would like everyone to participate in this including myself.
The theme will be Wars without Battles.
It should just be something short and once every one has done it we will vote on who we think should be featured as the opening writer to the project.
This will be the weekly prompt as well.
So Post your Writings into the Weekly Prompt blog.
Once again the prompt is Wars without Battles (talk to me if youre stumped)

Well Guys...

I was out yesterday so I couldnt post the weekly prompt but I will get to that soon. And um.
I got an idea. Miranda and Derrick will remember Sitzkreig
Well
I figured...since we have all these amazing writers now,
I think I should put it together again.
but those of you who dont know. i started a project when all my friends would give me poems and short stories and put them all into one big collection, Sitzkreig (A war without battle)
so
I was wondering if I could have your permission to put all of our stuff on the overlook into a collecion. I dont know
I might call it Sitzkreig or maybe I could call it simply, The Overlook

Give my your opinions and feedback,

-Jake

HIM

I had an epiphany last night. And oh Jesus it has put me in a terrible position.

In the United States it was happening. Somewhere in Peru children clung to Bibles. In India families are on their knees praying. Oh God it is happening. Jesus help us.

He was born in Spain of all places. A star shown bright in the sky and all the kings of our world rushed to see him. The savior. He would cure the world. He would bring peace. He was called Aliah. Christians bowed to him, Jews kissed his feet, and nations fell. I knew who he was, mother knew, father knew, the church knew. I was a coward though. I watched as my parents confessed to Jesus as their savior, and their heads were then removed from their bodies. My little innocent sister slaughtered before my eyes. But Aliah took a liking to me. He spared me. I was a coward. "No, Aliah is savior." I will forever regret the words. As of now, I wish I would have been killed that day upon on that mountain. Oh so high. Probably took my family straight to heaven. A fate I have come to the conclusion that I will never see.

In Spain it was happening. I stood by his side through it all. I have executed young ones. I have conquered nations under his wing. He was no savior. The president was dead. All communists were dead. There was but one leader. And today was his final push.

I had a dream last night. Dreams of redemption. Of a world without Aliah. I only woke to the clamor of his voice. So shrill and dead. The voice of a devil.

"Today is the day my boy." He stroked my hair while I opened my eyes. "Let's go."

I proceeded to grab my sword and follow him to the mountains.

He was beautiful. He wore gowns of white silk and gold. His skin as pale as pearls. His hair resembling darkness. His eyes were blue like the sky I once knew.

"Stay here." He touched my chest. He continued to walk to the edge of the cliff-side. We had taken over most of Europe by now. The only free areas left in the world were there. The only people to oppose him. Today we "ended it".

This makes no sense. Our savior is on his way. The final battle is nigh. The dream.

He sat on the mountain side and watched his world go by. The lake polluted with bodies, the citadels smoking from bombs, the air putrid. And there was a peek of sun coming over the horizon. Its orange glow on all the chaos. I had to admit, Beautiful. He stood, and raised his arms to the sky. Aliah had a plan. Bring down the skies! There was going to be an event today. Something would fall from the sky. To what was going to happen, I have no idea. I only followed. But I knew one thing; it was going to wipe out all of Europe. Israel, Jerusalem, and the valley of Armageddon were going to be destroyed. And I was fortunate enough to stand by his side and watch.

The sky began to swirl as if a hole were beginning to rupture through it. I knew what I must do.

I began to step toward him.

Dear mother forgive me. I know what is right. Dear father I am avenging you. Dear sister I love you. Rest in peace. And more importantly. Dear Father in Heaven, I know I am no longer accepted into your realm. This is for the world, not for my redemption. But I ask one thing; forgiveness.

I drew my blade.

I walked the narrow path hanging over the valley.

"Aliah!" I screamed. He turned around mystified. The sky continued to swirl. And I whispered. "In the name of Jesus…" I charged.

Darkness. Had my blade fallen upon his neck?

***

There are only a few things I am sure of now. Aliah is alive being one.

That "666" still tattooed inside his mouth.

But hey,

Heaven is beautiful.

Too bad he will never get to see it.

 

    ---

So this was something I wrote really quickly. But I kind of like it. I'm sure there are a bunch of errors and it's not spiced up with my usually zesty use of language. But the story in itself is a good one I'm proud of. It's also a lot shorter than usual but see what you think,

 

-Jake T. Edmunds

Mhm

Their bodies were like flags, that caught the wind under folds of fluttering fabric. They turned, they flipped, they tumbled, and rippled, flailing like breathless fish, cold, and terrified, as their death's all drew closer with every inch. Sometimes they would scream. Sometimes, they would be dead before they hit the pavement. And sometimes, they were simply to terrified to utter a sound from their bodies, whose flesh would soon paint the ground in pinks and reds.
If I'd been less consumed with logic, perhaps I would have seen this coming. But I was deafened by the sounds of human logic, and foolish with certainty who's assumptions were unfounded. I'd laugh if it wasn't so painful. I'd laugh, if only to corrode all the bitterness and regret that follows with me wherever I go.
Here, my skin burns with eternal ice. Goosebumps rise, and fall on the skin remained to be frostbit. I am clothed, but not covered, if only to taunt me of the aspect of warmth.
My breath is but a reminder that I will never feel heat that lasts for more than one moment.
I will never be warm again, and I will choke in endurance, wishing that death would envelop me, and that all of my limbs would decay in the cold.
But that's the way that torture works. I am already dead. And I will never die again.
Getting used to hell is not a possibility. Things will only get worse.
And I will only be more trapped.
If I hadn't been so deafened by the sound of human logic, the eternal cries of fetus's would never slice through my sanity, or leave my mind to fester, as I wonder halls whose doors are portals to pools of abortion.
They're still alive here, and they're clawing at the porcelain, in the waters of embryonic fluid, until I'm immersed within them, gagging on the smell of viscous death, when I'm not underneath becomming one of them, gurgling in agony myself, and wondering why I'd been abandoned here.
If I hand't been so deafened by human logic, perhaps I could have saved myself.
Instead I am here. Nauseated by acidic hunger pains, and weak enough to collapse on to my knees. Exhausted, but unable to sleep. Starving, yet unable to eat.
If I would have known of this hell, was there a chance I might have saved myself?
Or would the simple fact that the only reason blood shed of another would never reach my hands
was to save myself of torture, be enough to hold me tethered to the pain that is my death.

-------------------------

Yeah, I'm really not too fond of this.
But whatever.



-Miranda

These are your sins

The inky darkness that polluted his vision pressed into him. Chris couldn't tell whether or not his vision had grown accustomed to the darkness. Being in the darkness, he had lost all orientation of time, date, and location. All he knew now was the darkness. Suddenly, he could see a faint glimmer in the darkness below him. As that glimmer grew, so did his hope. The sliver of light grew faster and faster, and was rushing up to meet him. Suddenly, it started spiraling around him, reminding him of a twister, wiping away the darkness. After the darkness was gone, he was surrounded by white clouds, the bottoms as grey as steel. The thing was, Chris noticed, was that the clouds made a kind of sphere around him. He looked up, and the clouds broke at top, making a hole with brilliant sunlight filtering down and concentrating on a single spot in front of him. It reminded him of the very heavens itself opened up. It was almost as if his very thoughts were read, as bare feet emerged from the hole, followed by pure white robes. The figure descended slowly, and it was a man dressed in stark white robes, golden hair flowing from his head. His arms and face were of a healthy complexion for a white man, and his brilliant azure eyes gave him a haunting yet stunningly beautiful and handsome appearance. The Angel stood there, staring at him, until finally he spoke.

"My name is Michael." The angel simply said. Chris tried to speak, but his words failed him. He stood there, mouth agape, staring at Michael. Michael then swung his right arm, and the clouds vanished. The ground was rushing up to meet them both and Chris cringed, screwing his eyes shut. Yet, where there was supposed to be a sickening crunch, there was a decrease of speed, and his feet were lightly set upon the ground. Suddenly, the Earth started to rotate underneath their feet, and the Earth grew faster in its rotation. Finally, it slowed to a stop, and in front of the pair was a bar. Michael led him inside and they both sat down at a table in the back. Suddenly, Chris could see himself walking in and sitting down at the counter. He looked at Michael quizzically, and he dismissed his look by nodding in the direction of the counter. A fairly decent woman walked up to him and sat next to him, and they chatted for quite a while. After a few drinks, Chris could tell that the man who looked like him was beginning to get a little bit on the playful side. All of a sudden, they both walked away from the counter, and towards the steps. She took him by the hand and led him upstairs, where Chris could tell exactly what they were doing. Suddenly, time froze, with Chris and Michael being the exception. When Chris went to ask Michael what the thing that they witnessed was all about, Michael started to speak before he had the chance.

"Your lechery was your problem. You seemed to put the opposite sex ahead of almost everything else in your life. You committed adultery, and yet you thought nothing was wrong. Your lust for sexual behaviors was so great, that you didn't put anything else in the forefront of your mind except vulnerable women. Luxuria was but one of your sins…" He finished with that, and the scene melted away, leaving the terrible darkness to take up its place. Shortly after that, there was almost a shattering noise, like when you would drop a glass or break a window. The darkness came apart in shards, and a whole new scene replaced it.

Chris could see that they were in his home. He recognized it as around the time they were going through some difficulties, and money was tight. They had to watch what they spent money on, and also what they consumed. Chris could see lights on in the dining room, and when he went to take a look, it was a family dinner-one out of many. Only this time was different. This time, he was looking in on the scene, instead of actually taking place in it, like he was watching a play or a movie. He watched his children running off to play, and his wife kiss him before leaving; only he made no move to get up. Instead, he waited until he didn't hear them anymore, and then snuck into the kitchen. He ate so much, not leaving much left. He obviously didn't give a damn, but Chris knew what was wrong when he saw it. The scene dissolved again, and Michael was standing in front of him.

"You had not wanted even to share in eating the food with your family. Instead you horde it for yourself, much like an animal does before settling down for the winter. You had no just cause to overeat, especially in a time of financial troubles like you were in. Gula was but one of your sins…" A new scene replaced the previous one. In this, Chris saw himself sitting in his office as CEO of his business. He was going over the income, and calculating how much each person would get as pay, and how much he would have to take out for supplies and such. Chris saw himself smiling as he clicked on something on his computer, and typing something in. He lowered the amount that all of his employees would be getting, only by a little, unnoticeable bit. He then added the total amount to how much money he would get from that month's income. The scene vanished before his eyes.

"Avarita… you condemned things eternal for the sake of temporal things. You couldn't let go of any money, and you even couldn't find a way to justify your stealing. You betrayed the trust of those that depend on you; you destroyed and ruined their lives." That scene, much like the others, fell away and was replaced with a new one. Chris could see, in the faint glow, a figure whose pallor was of a deathly hue. It was hunched in the corner, and sobs occasionally sounded from the huddled mass. A glint of steel could be seen, and something glistening and black ran down what looked like an arm.

"You let your apathy, depression, and joylessness get the best of you. You tried to take your own life, a selfish attempt that would only destroy the lives you care so much about. Acedia is where you went wrong." Michael's voice sounded from nowhere. Chris was getting increasingly worried, wondering what was going on. The scene was replaced with Chris, pointing a black handgun in someone's mouth. A twisted smile played on his face, as he pulled the trigger, blowing the brains of the person out from the back of his head.

"Your hatred and anger took the best of you, plunging you further into the darkness. In enacting your revenge, your love of justice was perverted to revenge and spite. You killed for vengeance, and that only left you empty inside. Ira threw you into the darkness." That scene was replaced with a courthouse scene. Chris had just got done winning a case that sued a woman for $2.2 million. He took great pleasure in taking what was precious and needed from her, and relished in that.

"You saw that you lacked what she had, and wished to deprive and tear it from her. You took pleasure in seeing her low and beneath you, and in doing so you destroyed your own self. Invidia destroyed you." Michael said. This scene change was gradual, much like the first one. The courthouse faded away, and a new place became visible around them. It was a strange place, filled with many different swirling colors. All of a sudden, memories and images assaulted Chris's mind. Times where he felt that he was better… that he didn't need to donate, or to admit defeat. Times where he tried so hard to compete with other people, and stepped on others to win. The assault lasted the longest out of all the scenes, and left Chris in a heap on the ground.

Michael's voice came, yet softer this time. "You ruined the lives of others to try and get to where you are." Michael's azure eyes now filled with apparent compassion. "You reveled in your feelings of superiority. From superbia, came the others." Michael waved his right arm, the same way he did when they started. All of the scenes appeared around Chris, overlapping each other. "Your sins… Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride." Chris realized that he hadn't said anything since they first began. Tears welled up and spilled over from his eyes.

"What do I do?" Chris said for the first time since being on this endeavor.

"You let go." Was the last thing Chris had heard. Darkness started to spiral up from the area beneath Chris, much like the source of light did. It spiraled around him, enveloping himself in total darkness. This time, he could see many bodies beneath him, their eyes shut. Yet, their mouths were slightly open, and a chilling wail emitted from each mouth. There must have been millions of them, some with their eyes simply shut, others with their lids sewn together. Some had terrible masks, and some were eternally lit aflame. Chris slowly descended closer and closer to the grey bodies, and they reached out for him. He tried fighting it, but they wouldn't let go. Soon, the floating bodies made room for him to slide into. Slowly his eyes shut, as he descended into oblivion for the final time.

These… are your sins…

-Jon